


O Children

by Bofursunboundbraids



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Anger, Breastfeeding, F/M, Face Slapping, Goldsickness, Homelessness, Kids playing, Newborn, dragon attack, overbearing relatives
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-28
Updated: 2015-02-14
Packaged: 2018-02-10 18:47:06
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2036046
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bofursunboundbraids/pseuds/Bofursunboundbraids
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There were children that lived under the mountain, of a noble line and a brilliant future, but nothing is ever certain.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Girl

**Author's Note:**

> The events that take place here are in the same 'verse as "These Precious Things".

2760 t.a.

And the shout of joy went out...

"On this day a child has been born!"

"The Prince Thrain, son of Thror welcomes his daughter!"

The crier stood on the pedestal outside the royal mansion, the official document in his hand. He called out, his heart swelling with the news he shared with all who could hear. A third child was born to the prince and princess; a healthy, beautiful, vocal baby girl. And he repeated this wonderful thing again.

"...welcomes his _daughter_!"

Passing dwarrows stopped to listen. Some made gestures of respect; some bowed, some raised their hand as if in toast. A few answered with, "Mahal save his glorious majesty." Some merely nodded or smiled. A healthy birth is always a welcome thing, for they are not as common an occurrence as they are for mortal men. And a girl child is an especially rare gift.

The crier posted the birth proclamation on the pillar in the center of the courtyard and made his way to the south marketplace to spread the word. 

_A child has been born_...

* * *

The newest Durin had entered the world screaming; bright pink with a shock of black on her head and the softest black down on her cheeks. The midwife gently washed the little body, calming her in warm water before handing her to her mother. With the experience that comes from having already brought two babies into the world, the princess guided the tiny mouth to her breast and waited until the baby was ready. This baby was a hungry one, like her brothers before her, and she suckled eagerly. Rís felt the powerful pull of nourishment as it flowed from her to this brand new life and she finally took that deep breath of relief that came when she knew her child was strong. She turned a beaming face to her husband.

"She's so beautiful." Tears graced the mother's cheeks.

Thrain brushed sweaty tendrils of hair from his wife's forehead, "As beautiful as the lady who created her."

" **We** created her, my love. By the grace of Mahal."

"Yes," he nodded, "by his almighty grace."

Rís looked quickly past his shoulder to the closed door, "The boys...are they all right?"

"All right?" Thrain laughed heartily, "I left Frerin trying to decide which of his toys he wanted to gift his new sibling with and Thorin...'

Rís giggled, "My poor darling...he probably hasn't drawn a proper breath since my labor began."

Thrain nodded, "This is true. Shall I bring them in?"

"Please...I want my boys to meet their sister."

"Then we are agreed?"

"On name? Yes."

Thrain kissed his wife's lips and his daughter's head before going to the door.

Rís could hear her boys running to their father. 

"Papa! Papa! What is it? Can we see it?" Frerin's voice excited, Thorin's anxious.

"Yes, yes, my sons, come meet your baby sister."

"SISTER!" they shouted, in unison, with wonder at this rarest of creatures being their new playmate.

"Yes! Come along now and meet Dís!"

They rushed through the door as one, with Frerin squeezing past his elder brother to get to his mother's bedside first. 

"Mama, mama, ohhhhh..." Frerin stood on his tiptoes, straining to get a look at the fuzzy black head nestled to his mother's breast. Thorin came up quietly behind and lifted his brother for a better view. Rís reached a hand out, cupping their cheeks in turn. She gave them a sweet, but tired, smile, "my beautiful boys..."

Frerin reached out, but his arms were not long enough to touch and he grumpily fussed in Thorin's arms, accidentally kicking him in the shin.

"Oww!" Thorin yelped and set his brother down, scowling.

"Papa," Ris called to her husband, "why don't you take our Dís to the couch so the boys can meet her properly."

Thrain came to his wife's side, and with practiced care, took his daughter into his arms. She stretched, sleepily, her little hands curled up, and a toothless yawn showed a tiny milk coated tongue. He smiled at his boys, unshed tears making his eyes glitter in the lamp light.

"Come," he said softly, and led his sons to the couch across the room. He sat himself down, being careful not to jostle his bundle. 

Frerin braced himself on his father's knee and leaned forward. He looked at the little body. She had fallen asleep in her father's arms, and he was disappointed.

"When can I play with her, papa?"

Thrain chuckled, "Oh, not for some years, Frer. She will need to be very closely looked after until she is old enough to move about by herself. You will have to wait, just as Thorin had to wait for you." Thrain looked at his eldest, whose Durin blue eyes never left the bundle in his father's arms. "You remember, don't you, Thrainul? You were still very small yourself, but just as eager for a new playmate."

Thorin nodded, "Yes, papa, I remember, a little bit."

"Can I touch her?" Frerin asked, his hand already moving, cautiously, closer to this object of great curiosity.

"With care...that's it, awww..." And Thrain's heart was moved by the sight of his youngest boy, his finger caught in his baby sister's miniature grip.

"Ohhh! Look, papa...Thorin...look at that! She knows me!" He leaned forward, as close as he could get, "Hello Dís," he said in his little boy's voice, "I'm your big brother, Frerin. I love you, baby." And he popped a kiss on her face and hopped away.

"Thorin, would you like to hold her?" Thrain asked his silent, awed son. The young dwarrow nodded, holding his hands out while his younger brother let everyone know just how unfair it was that he was not offered this great privilege. Thrain _tutted_ the lad as he handed his baby over. 

"Careful...careful now...ahhh...support her head...hold her close...there you are. Look, Frerin," Thrain laid a hand on the boy's shoulder, "see how securely Thorin holds her so that she doesn't fret." He could hear the cooing sounds coming from his eldest who seemed to exist in a realm that included no one but his sleeping sister and himself.

"Well done, my son," Thrain encouraged, "One day, you will make a wonderful father, as well as a king." 

Thorin woke from his reverie and looked up, a happy smile on his face. Thrain pulled Frerin onto his lap. "Now, my lads," he spoke, his tone informing the import of his words, "it is paramount that you understand...it is for all dwarrows to protect our dams, for they are our most precious resource. And it is your Mahal blessed duty to watch over this girl, your sister. Keep her safe...one day she will bring a new dwarrow life into this world and our people will remain strong."

"Yes, papa," Thrain's boys nodded understanding of this, their earliest responsibility. Thorin held his head high, "I will protect her with my life, papa." 

"Then," Thrain swelled with pride at the noble spirit of his heir, "that is all I can ask, my Thrainul. Here," he held his arms out to accept Dís back from Thorin, who was reluctant to relinquish the peacefully sleeping infant, "now, let us leave your poor mother to get some rest." And he handed the baby back to Rís, "I task you with telling grandfather it is time to meet his granddaughter. Can you do this, my lads?" 

"Yes, yes, YES!" Frerin jumped up and down, ready for this first task as a big brother. Into Thorin's hand, Thrain placed a heavy pouch. And he hugged them both.

"Oh...my boys...my strong lads. I am so proud of both of you. When you've completed your task, take that gold," Thrain nodded at the bag the boys were now peering into, "go into the market and buy whatever you please. This is a day for too many sweets, is it not? Now, give your mother a kiss and GO!" Even Thorin wore a large grin as he and his brother planted loving kisses on their mother's cheek.

"Love you! Love you, mama!" the boys sang before tearing from the room on their mission to find grandfather and then off to the bustling marketplace, of which there could be no better place for two wee princes with a bag of gold.

Thrain watched his sons run from the room, as happy as he'd ever seen them. 

"Those were your brothers, little Dís. They will be your dearest friends, all your life." Rís said, as she watched her baby's eyes open. Twin dots of blue reflected the lamp light.

Thrain sat alongside his wife and ran his thick, forge calloused fingers gently over his daughter's head. He smiled at his wife, "And how are you holding up? You must be exhausted."

Rís failed at stifling a yawn, "I am _wonderful_...but, yes, I am tired." Another yawn halted any further words. 

"I would be happy to take her and wait for Thrór in the great hall so you may get some sleep." Thrain offered, but Rís shook her head.

"I couldn't bear to be parted from her. No, I can wait for father, he'll be along shortly, I am sure." 

Thrain leaned over and kissed his wife, tasting of her mouth and finding himself eager for the day that she would be healed from delivering their daughter. It had been a number of months since they'd last known each other intimately. "I love you, _Ghivashel_." he said, softly.

"And I love you." her voice was slowly fading with fatigue. Thrain watched her fight to keep her eyes open.

"No, no...let it come. Go to sleep. If Dís wakes, I will take her..."

Rís slid down a bit in the pillows, her baby lying contentedly on her chest, and was almost instantly asleep.

Thrain watched his girls sleep, their breathing in synch. He looked at the clock. It had been six hours since Ris' labor began, much quicker than it had been with both Thorin and Frerin. He smiled wearily at the memory of fourteen years past, of how his eldest kept them waiting for sixteen hours before making an appearance. Letting out a yawn himself, he walked out of the bedroom, leaving the door cracked ajar, and went into the sitting room. He poured himself a glass of brandy and swirled it about the glass before taking a sip, the liquor sliding over his tongue, warm and mellowing. He settled himself in his chair before the fire and waited for his father. Thrór had been informed his daughter-in-law had gone into labor, and Thrain had expected him to be there for the birth. He took another sip of brandy and laid his head against the seat back.

The last thing he thought with his conscious mind was how very content he was, and he sent a silent prayer to their maker for all the peace and good fortune the children of Durin had been blessed with. They were many, safe and prosperous, and their kingdom under the mountain would flourish for ages to come.


	2. We Have Always Lived in the Castle

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the children of Durin, the kingdom of Erebor is their playground, but childhood does not last forever.

2767 t.a.

"And the line of Durin shall tear through our foes until they lay down their arms..."

"Or lay down their _lives_!"

Thorin nodded sternly at his fearsome little brother, who shook his wooden sword, a too large helm wobbling on his head. 

"WOOOOO...let's KILL THE FOES!!" a high-pitched, but mighty voice was added to the war-talk. The littlest dwarrow soldier pranced back and forth, a toy axe in her chubby hand, a hobby battle ram her noble steed. 

Thorin fought to keep from laughing at the delightful sight of his little sister, barely out of nappies and ready to take on the dark forces that threatened their kingdom. He raised his sword.

"The hour has come! On my mark... **NOW**!"

And the mightiest army to assemble in defense of Erebor charged. With an impressive, "Baruk Khazâd! Khazâd ai-mênu!" Thorin, son of Thrain, and eldest grandson of the King Under the Mountain, led his troops into battle. They ran, hollering, waving their weapons at the enemy's invisible infantry. With some struggle they broke through this line, only to come upon the stone-faced generals; two rows of marble statues bearing the likenesses of Durins past. They enclosed the edge of the outdoor courtyard attached to the royal mansion, which was the favoured place for young dwarrows to make war on a warm afternoon in early summer.

Thorin rallied his weary warriors, "We have decimated the enemy's first line, but the battle is far from over. Frerin," he laid his hand on his brother's shoulder and looked him square in the eye, "I need your mighty arm to cut down the right flank. Fix your eye on that grim one," he nodded at the stone countenance of his own namesake, "for he is a vicious fiend and the greatest enemy to our people. Take him down and the others will flee before you. " Frerin nodded, all of his focus on the silent villain. Then, Thorin kneeled down before his galloping, giggling cavalry.

"Lady Dís, victory rests on your shoulders."

Dís pulled her ram to a halt and tested her axe on her brother's arm. Thorin absently rubbed the sore spot and shook his head.

"Not me, silly," he pointed to the statues on the left, "them. Take them down, one by one. Give Bloodeater a taste of what it most desires."

"BLOODEATER!" Dís yelled at the top of her lungs, swinging her little axe, a gift from her father's cousin. She had named it herself. Thorin managed a kiss to her head before pointing her in the right direction. 

"If this is to be our last stand, let us make it worthy of song for all the ages to come. My brother...sister...fight with me...fall with me...DU BEKÂR!!!" 

"DU BEKÂR!!!" the younger Durins yelled and charged; sword flashing, helm bobbing, pigtails flopping, and they fell upon the pretend enemy with a ferocity that would've made those statues' flesh and blood incarnations extremely proud. Finally, after a solid five minutes of hacking and yelling, Thorin claimed victory in the name of the Lonely Mountain and the weary, battered army sounded their joy in whoops and childish bellows. 

"The battle is won," Thorin called his warriors to him, "but the war is far from over. Follow me!" 

Once more the mighty forces of Erebor regrouped and ran into battle, laying waste to all that stood before them, routing the enemy, and emerging victorious. But now, the most dire battle of them all awaited.

"Before the gates of Khazad-dûm we stand, my brethren. Here we will meet our salvation or our doom!" Thorin waved his sword in the air, excited for this last battle and extremely pleased with how everything had gone so far. His younger siblings were proving a quite adept army and he made a mental note to ask mother if their next war could be held on the multi-tiered terraces carved on the mountain's western face. He gave instruction to his first lieutenant; Frerin nodded enthusiastically, ready and raring to go. Thorin turned to his cavalry just as its little girl's head nearly split in half from the widest of yawns. Dís rubbed at her eyes sleepily. Thorin knelt down.

"Is it time for a nap, Lady Dís?" he asked, brushing stray curls off her forehead. She shook her head stubbornly.

"Nooooo...I'm not tiiii..." and another huge yawn took shape, showing gaps in her mouth where baby teeth had recently fallen out. Thorin laughed softly.

"Oh yes you are. Come on, let's go see mother," and he scooped his little sister up; axe, battle ram, and all.

Frerin, still standing in position and ready to fight, saw what was happening. His shoulders slumped with disappointment as he watched Thorin pick Dís up. "Aren't we going to keep playing?" he asked, running up to his brother, his sword dragging behind him.

"Dís needs to go down for a nap."

"But after that...we can still play...I'm not tired," Frerin fought his jaw from betraying him when a yawn came unbidden. He was no longer a little child like his sister, he didn't need to go down for naps, even if he did feel like yawning.

Thorin nodded, "Of course we can. Here, can you take her axe before it falls?"

Dís was already asleep and the iron grip she had had on her cherished weapon was loosening. Frerin reached up to take it and, following his brother, carried it inside the majestic mansion that housed the royal family of Erebor. Down long corridors of intricately carved stone the children walked, and up wide stairways, until they reached the place where they would find their mother. 

Rís sat in the stately drawing room, tea service sitting on the low table before the couch. She rose and quickly went to her children as they entered. Her usually happy smile wore a tinge of wistfulness at the corners.

"Back so soon, my jewels? Awww..." her arms opened wide when she saw that her youngest was sound asleep, "let mummy take her, Thrainul."

Thorin gushed, "You should've seen her, mother, galloping about like a wild Khâzad! She fought ferociously until she could no longer keep her eyes open..." 

"Mama!" Frerin interrupted, tugging at her skirts, "we were at the gates of Moria! We still have a battle to fight! We..."

"Moria, is it?" a familiar but not often heard voice broke in, "That is a mighty ambition, Thorin Thrainul...I am pleased that you see this as something to be achieved, even if it is only in play."

The young family of the crown prince of Erebor turned towards the approaching figure that was Thrór, King Under the Mountain. The young princes bowed to their grandfather as they had been taught, wondering what brought him to their part of the mansion. 

"Thorin," Rís said, that wistfulness to her smile deepening to something that looked almost melancholic, "your grandfather wishes to speak to you."

"But we still have one more battle!" Frerin blurted out.

Thrór looked sharply from Frerin to Rís.

"Frerin, my darling, please come and help me put Dis down for her nap."

Frerin felt an enormous weight at the utter unfairness of this turn of events and Durin stubbornness, which was his birthright, chose that moment to dig its heels in.

"But...Thorin and I...we still need to FIGHT THE ORCS!" he shouted, looking at the adults in the room, waiting for the realization of what was at stake to dawn on them, but all he got for his trouble was his mother's unusually sad eyes and his grandfather's obvious displeasure.

"Frerin! You will come with me right now," Ris demanded and, seeing that this battle was lost before it was even begun, the young dwarrow slunked over to his mother.

"We'll finish the battle, Frerin," Thorin called to his little brother. Frerin turned and nodded happily, but the smile quickly faded as he watched their grandfather lay a possessive hand on Thorin's shoulder, and it looked to him as if that hand would never want to let go again.

"Come," Frerin heard the king say to his brother, "it is time we talk, you and I. You are too old for childish games. Your future is at my side, and one day, the throne..."

"Mama," Frerin looked up and noticed that his mother's eyes shone a bit brighter than was normal, "Thorin's coming back to play with me today, isn't he?"

Rís guided her son down the hall to the nursery, "I do not think so, my jewel."

"But he said we would keep playing.." the young dwarrow felt the embarrassing sting of tears in his eyes and wobble in his lower lip. 

"I am afraid Thorin will not have much time to play any more. He is growing up and it is time for him to learn all he will need to know for when the day comes and he is king. There is much Father and Grandfather have to teach him" 

The cold realization of what this meant doused Frerin and he followed his mother and sleeping sister into the nursery, silently, tears welling in his eyes. He watched mama lay little Dís down on her bed; she pulled off the girl's red silk slippers with the curled up toes and brushed wild black curls off the baby smooth forehead. She kissed a pink cheek and turned the lamp on the nightstand down low. Frerin added his own kiss to the little girl's cheek. Mama took his hand in hers.

"Come, let us have some biscuits and a story my Frerin-love." 

Frerin followed his beautiful mother down the hall to her sitting room. When a biscuit filled with dried grapes and cherries danced on his tongue and mama was telling him of great battles where his ancestors of ages past fought the most ancient of evils, Frerin felt the chill in his bones dissipate. Tomorrow would bring another day for play and surely see his sister and himself following their brave and noble brother Thorin, heir to the magnificent kingdom of Erebor, into the heart of another fierce battle. He snuggled down into his mama's side and slowly, eyelids heavy with sleep rested solidly closed.

Rís pulled her sleeping boy into her lap, quite happy he was still small enough to do so. She wrapped her arms around him and held him close. And she would continue to hold him until it was his turn to learn the ways of the throne, to be a support for his brother when the time came and Thorin sat on the throne. 

 

And she rested back against the cushions of the couch and closed her eyes.

* * *

2768 t.a.

Thranduil resisted the urge to yawn. Instead, he raised the golden goblet to his lips and drank deeply of the heady red wine. It was ostentatious, this goblet, with its embedded gems and hefty weight, and he did not much care for it. Nor did he care for the way the Naugrim king flaunted his great wealth. Gold touched almost every object if it was not made of the metal outright. The overall impression was one of decadence and vulgarity and had a feeling of desperation to it. Not that Thranduil cared much for the king himself. Thrór was pompous and abrupt; always ready to discuss his own interests but rarely having the patience for anyone else's. And the only time his interest could be captured usually involved the transfer of another's wealth into his own coffers. 

Such an exchange was the only reason Thranduil and his closest were standing in the cavernous Gallery of Kings. All around them mingled members of the king's court; dwarves arrayed in their finest garments of silk and fur. Ornamentation of Sapphire, Emerald, Ruby, and Diamond adorned thick, intricately braided hair on heads and chins, lords and ladies alike. Like giant firs the elves towered above the shrub-like dwarves and like water flowing around boulders, they moved about with grace but never leaving much of an impression. Thranduil knew he must play this game and wait before Thrór would present him with what he had come for, and if there was one thing Thranduil understood, it was waiting. 

An elf's heart can be swayed by few things, for his life is without limit and the passing of time can make him apathetic to the constancy of life in Middle-earth. However, an object of extraordinary beauty will capture his heart and imagination like no other thing under the sky. Thranduil had come to purchase such an object from Thrór; an elegant circlet of white gold studded with diamonds, each cut to reflect and refract light and sparkle like starlight captured in simple white stones. The elvenking was always very pleased with every piece he commissioned the dwarves to create, a curious irony considering the general unlovliness of the stunted inhabitants of the Lonely Mountain. Thranduil drained his goblet and instantly needed a refill.

++++++++

Hidden in the deep shadows, two faces peeked around a corner. Youngling eyes, that had never seen anything like the opulence laid out before them, were huge in round, pale faces. The littlest one gasped.

"OOOOOOHHHHH! LOOK, FRERIN!!! THERE'S MAMA!!! THERE'S PA...Mmmmmph." a hand clamped over the excited little girl's mouth.

"Shhhh, Dís. Do you want to get caught and sent back?" elder brother whispered in his sternest voice. Dís shook her head. It was bad enough they had sneaked out of the nursery as soon as nana left them to remove the dinner plates to the kitchen, but if mama or papa were to catch them wandering about alone, and during one of grandfather's Very Important Events, they were sure to get more of a scolding than just being sent to bed without dessert. Frerin, being a responsible young dwarrow at the advanced age of 17, knew he had to get his little sister back before nana found them missing. "Come on Dis, you've had your look, we should be getting back." Dis took another step forward.

"Ooohhh...looook...eeelllvvveeesss." The little girl had heard about elves, in stories told by her parents, but never seen one. To her they had always seemed frightening; silent, tall, and cold. They were always portrayed as allies and fierce in battle, but never kind or friendly with her people. Seeing them now, in the flesh, she felt nothing like fear. Enchanted, she watched them move about with a grace she had never witnessed before. She was taken with one in particular; an extraordinary figure clothed head to toe in shimmering green raiment, his hair like spun gold hanging in a silken sheet down his back, and a crown of green leaves on his head. He raised a goblet to his lips, his elegant head tilted back slightly on his slender neck. Dís took a step out from behind the wall...and another...the magnificent being from another world getting larger as she moved closer. And everyone in that room ceased to exist apart from the elf and herself.

++++++++

"Frerin! Dís! Where have you run off to? Return to me now, or nana shall be very cross with you!"

Frerin could hear the exasperated voice of their nurse echoing off the stone halls, coming closer. He took a step back and craned his neck, fearing that he would see the face from which the calls came from. "Dís," he whispered his sister's name, "we should go back. I hope you're happy that we'll have no pudding tonight." He reached a hand out to lay on her shoulder, but it met empty space. "Dís...did you hear..." he faced forward only to find her...gone. Panic immediately blossomed as a pounding heart in his chest and he looked, wide eyed, at the regal throng before him. Looking, looking...oh where was she...THERE! A tiny dwarrow, only hip high to most grown ups, standing at the foot of the tallest being he'd ever seen. And everything went into slow motion when a tiny hand reached out, took a handful of richly embroidered robe, and pulled.

++++++++

Thranduil was starting to feel the most minute twinge of tedium, a fact he wasn't exactly proud of which only exasperated the sensation. He looked at the deep crimson dregs in his goblet and decided that if he was going to be made to wait (which in and of itself wasn't an issue) and be subjected to this absurd pageant (which was every bit the issue) then he would do his best to empty Thrór's wine cave. His pleasure at this petty revenge was interrupted by an odd tugging on his robe, somewhere below his knee, and he looked down. Looking up at him would be two emeralds, if they were stones, but they were eyes - brilliant green eyes- set in a round face and topped with a mass of black curls that defied control. The little face smiled up at him and, for reasons he would wonder at for some time, he smiled back.

"HI! He heard the little voice say, a strong voice for what was obviously just a child. He had never seen so young a Naugrim, so he kneeled down, carefully studying its face. 

"Hello," he said.

"My name is Dís. Who are you?" the child never broke eye contact as she ran her hands over the silken velvet of his robe.

"I am Thranduil."

"You're an elf."

"Yes I am."

"I knew that. I'm a dwarrow."

"Yes. I know that."

The girl giggled. Her face lit up like a beacon in this sea of banality. He was strangely delighted. "Who is you father, child?"

"Thrain is my father."

"Thrain?"

"Yes! Thorin is my brother, and Thrór is my grandfather. He's the king."

Thranduil was only too pleased by this information. "Yes, I know your grandfather. I am a king as well."

"You are?" smiling eyes turned to pure wonder.

"Yes. I am king of a mighty kingdom deep in the Greenwood."

"Not as great as this one."

The slight, albeit from a child's lips, was the impetus that put Thranduil's next actions in motion. 

"And have you seen my kingdom?"

Dís shook her head.

"Would you like to?"

Dís nodded.

"Well then..." and he held his arms open and she walked straight into them. As he lifted the child in his arms, he heard a commotion off to the side of the gallery. Another child's voice, this one raised in fear, screaming the name of the one he now held. This was followed by an angry adult, scolding, "Frerin! What are you doing here?"

"Papa! The _elf_ has Dis!" 

Thranduil was greatly amused with the way the young dwarrow said _elf_ , as if it belonged to one of the foul beasts of the world.

++++++++

The last thing Thorin expected to hear that evening was the sound of his younger brother's voice, raised in obvious distress, yelling their sister's name. He looked about, alarmed that Dís was in some danger, and eventually spotted Thranduil, the pompous elvenking, with the chid in his arms and an unusually pleasant look on his face. That was when he heard his father's anger directed at Frerin. He rushed forward, needing to free his sister and see her safe back in nana's care.

"WHAT IS THIS? WHAT IS THIS COMMOTION IN MY HALL?" Thrór bellowed, pushing his way amongst his people to get to the center of the problem. He had heard his son's voice raised, and something about his granddaughter and an elf. Oh, this will just not do! He will not be embarrassed like this in front of those smooth-faced, long-legged nits. As he made his way to Thranduil, he saw his grandson reach the elf first, raising his arms to take the child from him, only to have the elf say something, his expression one of mild happiness, and turn, striding away on his long legs. 

Thorin followed the quick walking elf. His heritage did not allow for much trust between their people, and he felt a great trepidation regarding his sister being in Thranduil's care. A clomp of boots and huffing breath came up beside him. 

"What is happening? Where is he taking my granddaughter?" the king asked Thorin in a rushed whisper.

"He says he's taking her to see the outside world...that so rare a gem should not be locked underground where the sun does not reach."

"Rare gem? Sun does not reach? What is he talking about...YOU!" Thrór yelled, effectively stopping Thranduil just feet from the gallery's immense doors. "WHERE ARE YOU TAKING HER?"

Thranduil turned, a whirl of silken damask, and faced the angry little fellow glaring up at him from under comically woolly brows. It pleased him greatly to note that the child, fascinated by his flaxen tresses, took no notice of her distressed grandfather. 

"As I told your..." Thranduil looked Thorin up and down and sighed, "heir, I am taking her out into the light. You keep your most precious things locked up too tight. If you do not let them out to breath the fresh air, they will be stunted..." he barely attempted to restrain his smile, "...and whither." With a weary sigh he turned and made his way for the door, waving his hand in dismissal. "I did not lie, Thorin, when I said I will return her. Please convey this to your grandfather. And have my goods ready for me. I will be leaving immediately thereafter." And without hindrance, and never slowing, Thranduil walked from the gallery and out into the lowering sun of summer's early evening. 

Thrór stood, feeling an impotence he had never experienced before. And it left him embarrassed in front of his people and the remaining members of Thranduil's retinue. And very, _very_ angry. He turned the weight of his anger towards the one nearest him. The sharp crack of hand on cheek reverberated about the walls.

"HOW COULD YOU LET THIS HAPPEN?!" Thrór bellowed. To Thorin's great credit he did not shrink back from either the slap or the words yelled in rage. He stood as stone, content only in the knowledge that his sister would come to no harm in the elvenking's care. He could bear anything his grandfather hurled at him; he would make no excuses. And this seemed to infuriate Thrór all the more. He threw his hands up in the air.

"BE GONE FROM MY SIGHT!" Thrór stormed away before Thorin could act on that request. He stopped in front of his son; Thrain held Frerin's hand in an iron grip as the boy cried loudly, his sister's name escaping between sobs. Thrór's fury radiated in hot waves and Thrain took a step back. Worse than any reproach, any words of utter disappointment at his children's role in this humiliation, Thrór merely sneered in disgust and left the gallery, alone.

++++++++

For Frerin it had been a whirl of adults rushing about, voices loud, and his father's angry face. All they had wanted was to see the party, was that so wrong? The answer, apparently was yes, and he knew he would feel the sting of this err in judgement. He was sorry...so, so sorry for disobeying, for letting Dís out of his sight. And now she was gone. Gone with that horrible elf to Mahal knows where. First it was Thorin, gone this past year from the nursery and now Dís, snatched away from right under their noses. For a terrible moment he saw himself alone in the nursery, his siblings gone, the only movement the flickering light from the lamps and the only sound the crackling of the fire in the hearth and the creaking of nana's rocking chair. This image held until he felt his hand move from the tight clench of his father to the gentle hold of his mother. And then Thorin was there, eye to eye, wiping his tears.

"Don't cry, _Khâzash_ , Dís will be back soon. I promise..."

"THORIN!" Thrain's voice was one not often heard raised in anger and it hurt the young dwarrow that it was his name that colored it so. The prince stood to answer to his father.

"Your king needs you, Thrainul."

"But he..."

"Now!" 

Thorin bowed his head, spared his brother a smile, and walked off to find his king, not in his chambers, but down below, deep in the treasury. Too often this is where he could be found.

++++++++

**Later that night...**

Thrain sat before the fire, a glass of wine on the table beside him, his daughter on his lap. The elvenking had not lied when he told Thorin he would return the child to them within the hour. He had carried her in his arms, much as he had carried her out, except she was in a deep sleep.

"She is under no enchantment," Thranduil had assured the worried parents, "a healthy dose of sunlight has put color in her cheeks and warmth in her blood. She is sleeping the sleep of a child who has experienced the world today." With great care he lowered the tiny dwarrow into her mothers arms. And, with the precious item he had commissioned tucked under his arm, he left them in silence, his small retinue at his heels. 

Dís was now well awake, sitting on her beloved papa's lap, her small body snuggled in his full beard. Her speech was bright and happy as she regaled her father with the story of her adventure with 'the most beautiful elven king'. 

"We rode on his giant elk, papa! And it _ran_ and I was afraid, but the king held me tight and I didn't fall!" Dís was animated and so excited as she told her story. Thrain did not want to let on that he did not think very highly of a supposed king who would take another's child away with no regard for the parents' state of mind. He listened and nodded and kept his comments to himself.

"And we went to this beautiful pond, with a waterfall, papa, it went up so high! I was scared, because it was loud, but then I heard _it_." Dis's little hands patted her father's beard, her eyes wide with joy.

"And what is _it_ , my diamond?" Thrain brushed unruly curls off of her forehead.

"The _music_!" she exclaimed, as if she were divulging the answer to the greatest question of the ages.

"Was it elven music?" Thrain asked, unable to remove all annoyance from his voice.

Dís shook her head, "No! It was very old music...in the water."

"The water?"

"Yes!" Dís nodded emphatically, "King Thranduil said it was a very old music, older than him even! He said that only elves are supposed to hear it because it is the music of the creators of everything."

Thrain's annoyance had grown to anger at the lies that elven bastard had filled his daughter's head with. "How is it that you can hear a music only elves are supposed to hear?" 

"The king..."

"Your grandfather is king." Thrain could not help correcting her.

"Oh...sorry, papa. Thranduil says it is amazing that a naugrim..."

"Khâzad!" Thrain shouted before he could stop himself. Dís cringed, frightened by her father's sudden anger. Thrain apologized for the outburst. He was not angry at her. "We are Khâzad, Dís Thrainul. Never use _their_ word for our people."

"Why, papa?"

"It is unflattering."

Dis looked up at her father, confused. "Why would they..."

"Never you mind about that, my diamond Dís." Thrain petted his little girl's hair, "Now, what did that elf say to you?"

Dis yawned, "He said it was impossible that a...dwarrow...could hear the music."

"Hmmph!" Thrain snorted, "Impossible? What would that pointy eared son of a..." 

"But it's not impossible because I heard it!" Dís pushed away from her father, her hands buried in his beard, her bright green eyes locked on his.

"And what was his answer to that?"

"He said I might be a little bit elf."

Thrain closed his eyes and bit his tongue. Never AGAIN would he allow that thing to take any of his children from the mountain. "That is foolish" he managed in little more than a croak.

"It is, papa! I told him I am only a dwarf..."

"Only?"

"...but I heard the music anyway. He said I must be the most special of all the dwarrows."

And for the first time since the beginning of this conversation Thrain smiled, "And in this, he is right."

"I am?"

"Yes, my diamond. You are the only granddaughter of the King Under the Mountain. And one day, your sons will be princes and they will serve your brother Thorin when he is king. There is no one else who can make that claim."

Dís was extremely pleased with this; pleased that her father was no longer angry and pleased that the elvenking had been right, that she WAS special. She relaxed completely against the solid warmth of her father, his beard as soft a bed as the one he would later carry her to. And With nana's help, he would get his daughter tucked into bed. He would place a kiss on her cheek and then one on his son's. His Frerin was a good lad. Tomorrow he would spend some time with the children that were left him, wash away the distress of the day caused by that irksome elf. Tomorrow he would remind them both of just how special they are.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have lifted the title of this chapter from the Shirley Jackson novel of the same name. (Highly recommended!!)
> 
> As far as how the kids are aging...I'm kind of fudging it. I figured Thorin, at 21, is the equivalent of 13/14...just the right age to start learning the family business. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> I'm on [Tumblr](http://bofursunboundbraids.tumblr.com)!


	3. Before the Fire

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from the last day of the rule of Thrór, King Under the Mountain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This takes place on the day the dragon came to Erebor in 2770 of the Third Age. I imagined the weather, as Bilbo describes it in the prologue to "An Unexpected Journey", to be similar to the muggy early fall days I experienced living in the San Francisco Bay Area (which was often referred to as "earthquake weather"). And that's the reason I set it in September. 
> 
> Thorin, Frerin, and Dís are 24, 19, and 10 respectively. Dwarves mature much slower than humans due to their extended life-spans.

**2770 t.a.**

Thorin stood, quietly, not wanting to make worse an already tense atmosphere. He watched his father, sitting at his heavy oak desk, writing rapidly, the pen's nib making a terrible scritching scratch that went straight up Thorin's spine. He wanted to leave; he was afraid of what his father was writing and wasn't even entirely sure if his being there in the same room with him couldn't be, at some point, construed as an act of treason. In his current state, grandfather would surely see it as so. And that would lead to banishment. Or worse. And that would be horrible, for grandfather needed him. He needed someone he could trust. 

"My lord," Thorin finally spoke, low. Thrain continued to write, his son's words unheard. He re-dipped his pen and continued.

"Thrain," Thorin tried again. Nothing. He stepped closer until he stood at his sire's shoulder.

"Father...papa," he could not keep the edge of fear from tainting his voice . As soon as that word registered, Thrain raised his head, the pen falling from a bloodless hand. He turned quickly to face the too pale, too thin face of his eldest, his heir...

(his usurper)

"Thrainul..." he sputtered, his eyes locked on Thorin's, intent on averting his son's gaze from the desperate message he was composing.

"Forgive me for interrupting..."

"Never apologize Thrainul. Not for that. My time is always yours."

Thorin nodded, pointedly not looking at the sheet of paper which bore his father's tidy hand and wishing he could ask him what he was planning...what could be so dire that he would hide it from his own son?

"I...I was wondering if you would oversee the changing off the guard."

"Why?" Thrain asked, the tone of his voice much too suspicious and he saw that Thorin heard it. He took a deep, calming breath. "Is he unwell?"

Thorin wanted to yell at his father. _Unwell? Unwell doesn't even begin to describe the king's current state!_ He swallowed his frustration, "the king is indisposed."

Thrain nodded, a grim set to his lips that mirrored his son's. 

"The guard will be glad to see you," Thorin offered as encouragement. 

Thrain nodded, smiling at his son, and Thorin saw in his father's eyes that it was genuine. "Of course...of course I will." Standing, he clapped a hand on his boy, who had grown up much too fast for his liking. "Perhaps we should gather up Frerin? I think he would take great joy in joining us."

The dark and heavy weight that had been pressing upon Thorin's heart lifted and Thrain saw the light return to his eyes. Thorin took his father's large hand in his.

"Thank you papa!"

"You are very welcome, my lad. And do not ever forget."

"Forget what?"

"That I am your papa."

Thorin looked confused, "Of course not. How could I forget?"

Thrain simply nodded, "Good...good. Well, let's get your brother and have this done with, eh?"

Thorin's sigh of relief was too obvious for Thrain's comfort. This was wrong. What was happening was wrong. He was now even more convinced that his reasoning was right and what he was planning was just. He would see his son free of his burden and happy. And he was willing to die for this.

++++++++

"No...Frerin...STOP IT!" Dís yelled, her little girl's shrill voice working the last nerve of everyone in the playroom.

"Mama...Dís won't let me have my battle boar...I NEED my battle boar!" Frerin loudly voiced his frustration.

Rís was already on her feet, her usual calm quickly dissolving as the pain in her head grew. She crossed the room to where her youngest sat on the rug, wooden figures arranged in neat lines, in what appeared to be a very tidy battle. Frerin's battle boar, a gift from his older brother, was an impressive fellow carved of rare black ebony with bristles of real boar hair. He had been made the chief of the hero army, and was leading his troops to victory. Rís held her hand out. Dís ignored her.

"Dís, give me your brother's toy now."

"But mama..."

"No, _but mama_ , Dís Thrainul. **Now**."

Dís slumped. Mama had evoked papa's name, which meant any more resistance would lead to no dessert and an early bedtime. With tears welling in her eyes, she handed the precious boar to her mother, who handed it to Frerin who in turn managed to stick his tongue out at his sister without his mother seeing. Dís returned the gesture and was not so lucky.

"I think it's time you had a nap..."

"Mama...NO! He started it! He stuck his tongue out at me first!"

Rís turned to her middle child, who shook his head, eyes wide with feigned innocence. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath.

"We'll let your father sort this all out tonight."

Now she had both children in tears, voices joined in a whining wail she was sure everyone occupying the royal apartments could hear. Rís was on the edge of losing her temper...

"Now what is this? Tears in the nursery? No no, my lovelings, what could be so terrible?" 

Crying children were now happy children as they ran into the outstretched arms of their father. He hugged them tightly and kissed away their tears before offering his wife a sympathetic smile. 

"Our bairns are being a challenge for their mother, I gather."

Rís nodded, her stress level dropping when her husband took her hand in his. "They're tired and cranky...but then so am I."

"It seems everyone is. The air is hot and heavy...more so than normal at this time of year." Thrain kissed his wife's cheek, "But I am here to offer you some relief. Frerin, my boy?"

Frerin looked up at his father, expectantly, his previously shed tears drying on his face.

"How would you like to walk the line with your brother and me?"

One would've thought Thrain had just asked his son if he wanted to be made captain of the first battalion. The lad was ecstatic. 

"Really? With Thorin too? Yes yes YES! Papa...yes! When are we going? Can we go now?" Frerin was a blur of excited energy, dancing around his father...all the drama of stolen toys long forgotten at the thought of time spent with the beloved brother he hadn't seen in weeks.

"We can go as soon as you'd like. Thorin will be waiting for us." Thrain ruffled his boy's hair, a mess of tangled golden waves and braids. 

"Please stand still, love, we can't send you up to the wall with your hair looking like a nest for birds. Oh...oh...that will have to do." Rís gave up, too happy about her son's excitement to be even the least bit exasperated. Her eyes met her husband's and she mouthed the words, "thank you."

Before Thrain could answer her a small, and very persistent, hand was tugging at his robes.

"Papa...I want to go with you and Thorin...papa, can I go too?" 

"You've been bad Dís! You have to stay here." Frerin scolded his sister "She has to stay here, doesn't she papa?" He asked hopefully.

"Frerin, never be unkind to your siblings, but yes, Dís, I am afraid you have to stay here with mama." Thrain scooped his youngest and only girl child up into his arms before the first tear fell. "But I promise you a story tonight, before bed, how does that sound?" 

Dís laid her head on her father's shoulder, sniffling but nodding. He handed her over to Rís before his baby could fall asleep, although it would've been nice. It had been some time since he'd had one of his children fall asleep on him. He remembered back to when Thorin was small, before Frerin came. Nearly every night would find him before the fire with a dwarfling sound asleep on his chest. It was a good time, a peaceful time. When all was well. When Thrór was well. If it was the last thing he did, he would see peace returned to the mountain...to his family.

"Well now," Thrain clapped his hands and rubbed them together in excitement, "let's get going! Don't want to keep Thorin and cousin Balin waiting, do we?"

Frerin jumped up and down before remembering that he was about to do something "official" so he stood up straight and tall. "I am ready, father," he croaked out in his deepest, most grown-up sounding tone.

Thrain gave his wife a kiss and a glance that held a promise; that he would ease all tension from her body once the nursery door had been closed for the night. A soft peck for his sleepy daughter and off he went, with a thrilled lad at his side. They walked the splendid corridors and boulevards of Erebor, returning salutations from noble and craftsman alike. Before long they reached the grand plaza that signaled they were near the front gate.

"Thorin!" Frerin yelled, waving his hand frantically in the air. Up ahead Thrain could see his eldest who was now waving back, a happy grin writ large across his face. 

"Go on," Thrain answered Frerin's eager, questioning glance, and the young dwarrow ran off to tackle his elder brother in a hug. Thrain smiled, his heart happier now than it had been in some time. This is how it should be, he thought to himself as he watched his sons, arm in arm, as they made their way to the gate.

He knew his chosen course was right.

++++++++

The late September sun glared down cruelly, a large white hole in an oppressive grey-white sky. Balin dabbed at his forehead with a handkerchief as he looked out over the parapet at the sunbaked lands about the Lonely Mountain. The air was thick and heavy, as if an invisible blanket of wool and down lay upon everything and everyone. What resulted was a collective sourness in temperament that lead to many an unkind word between friends and an overall restlessness. Pulling out his pocket timepiece, Balin gave a sigh of something like relief. It was nearing four in the afternoon. Thorin would be arriving soon. And, if all went well, Thrain would be with him.

And "went well" was long overdue.

A young, happy voice called out from somewhere down on the plaza. Balin smiled, genuinely relieved, when he recognized that it belonged to Prince Frerin. The boy was excitedly calling out to his elder brother. And Thrain was sure to be with the lad. Good...this is exactly what the people needed to see...the Crown Prince and his young family...the next generation of this kingdom's royalty...strong and vital. Good. Very, very good. 

And that's when the air broke like thunder.

++++++++

For everyone who was there that day, and survived to tell, it had begun with a loud, crackling BOOM followed by a rolling wave of hot, dry air. All faces turned anxiously towards the front gate and a glimpse of the flat, white sky. Thrain watched his eldest speak to the younger before running off up the stairs to the ramparts, armed soldiers following in his wake.

"What's happening, papa?" Frerin asked, his worried face turned up to where his brother now was. Thrain shook his head. "I don't know," he whispered, praying fervently that what he was most afraid of was not coming to pass. He, too, looked up to the ramparts and watched as Thorin leaned over the wall and, using all the air in his lungs, yelled.

"Dragon!"

"Frerin!" Thrain yelled over the sound of the alarms that now rang through the entire mountain. "Go back to your mother!"

"But papa..."

"Go to your mother right now! And stay with her...I need you to stay with her and Dís. Keep them safe until I can come for you!" Thrain's pride swelled as he watched his boy stand tall, his face a grim mask of determined duty. He pulled his son into his arms and pressed a kiss into his messy, golden waves. And that's when the first blast of dragon's fire came pouring in over the gate. Thrain instinctively pulled them to the ground, shielding his son's body as best he could until the heat subsided. Frerin was on his feet in a heartbeat.

"THORIN!" the boy cried and he pulled desperately at his father to go to where his brother had been, in direct line of the dragon's flame.

"Frerin...no! Frerin, please, go to your mother..."

"Thorin, papa! We need..."

"GO!"

Thrain watched his boy run as fast as he could, run to where Rís now paced with a crying child in her arms, waiting for nana to return with some word of what was happening and trying not to be scared to death for her husband and sons. He wished he had time to go himself, but right now he needed to find Thorin.

"Father!" Thrain heard Thorin calling, loud and clear, from the stairs. He was alive! And with Balin directly behind him. Together they mustered the troops before the grand, gilded gate of Erebor. And together they waited...with swords drawn...

++++++++

When a dragon wants something, nothing like thick oak and iron will keep it out. Nothing like scores of armed warriors with steel in their hands and bones of stone will deter it. It will destroy what stands before it without a second thought and it will snuff out a life as sure as breathe. Many died that day, soldier and citizen, as the dragon Smaug claimed the Lonely Mountain and its treasure for his very own. He feasted on anyone foolish enough to stand in his way. He had hoped he would be lucky enough to gobble up the king himself, but that was not to be.

The King Under the Mountain had heard the alarms. He knew what had come for he had been warned. That ridiculous elf had warned him. With his pretty towhead so high in the air, Thranduil had scolded the _naugrim_ king as if he were a child, told him that his greed would bring fire. But the King Under the Mountain had reminded him that a son of Durin answers to no one, his rule and his wealth both gifts of Mahal himself. And now a dragon had invaded his halls, coming for the gold, coming to swallow him whole and take his throne. 

"Thrór!"

His name bounced off the green granite walls. Thorin was coming for him. His Thorin...bless that boy! What a comfort he was...so loyal...

"Grandfather!"

Thrór ran. He had to collect his jewel. He refused to leave without it...his heart...the Arkenstone. Freed from its berth it fell, hot and heavy into his hands. And whispered with a silky ice breath promises that his rule was eternal and he would be king forevermore. He let it pull him along. And the heat grew.

++++++++

Thorin was in time to save his grandfather, but nothing else. It was lost. All of it. The gold. The mines. The mighty forges. He pulled Thrór along as the old dwarrow babbled about how his "heart is GONE! I can not leave it, Thorin! Help me reclaim my precious heart!". Thorin closed his ears to the pleas born of madness and fought Thrór's will to run back to find the jewel. It was no longer theirs.

With the ruined gate in sight Thorin was relieved to see Mother and Father, Sister and Brother. A bellow from deep within and a mighty shaking of the earth sent grandfather running for the open sky. The young prince saw his family out to safety, out under the glaring white sky. Out into a world that no longer knew a home for them. 

A plea for help was sent to the only one who could offer any. When the raven returned, the elvenking's answer was a passive refusal and the cruel suggestion that they allow him to care for the King's granddaughter; spare the pretty child this fate brought by her grandfather's blind greed. No raven flew back into Mirkwood. 

As evening fell, the survivors took account of who was wounded and who was lost. Whole families had fallen to the dragon's fire, talons, and teeth. The king sat in a daze, mumbling sadly about his heart being buried in a monster's bed. Thrain held his wife close, listening to the sounds of their children, and sent silent blessings to Mahal. They may have been chased from their home, but they were Khâzad and no hardship could bow their backs or break their will; Durin's Folk will always endure like the mighty mountains that born them. 

Thorin sat before the fire, the only comfort that could be secured for they had no food, no shelter. Dís sat in his lap, her head lolling sleepily on his chest, Frerin huddled at his side.

"I'm hungry, brother."

"We're all hungry, Dís." Frerin muttered, throwing a handful of twigs at the flames.

Thorin bent down and placed a kiss amongst the wild black curls on his little sister's head. "Tomorrow. We will eat tomorrow." but he offered no promise.

Dís took one of his braids in her hand and feathered the unbound end against her face. "Can we go home tomorrow? I don't like it here." 

Thorin could only shush her softly, "try to go to sleep, khazush." 

The little girl fidgeted to find a more comfortable position. Snuggling down, she was soon fast asleep. Frerin laid his head on Thorin's shoulder.

"We're never going back home, are we?" 

Thorin wrapped a protective arm about his brother's shoulders. "One day we will return."

Frerin lifted his head, the firelight making his eyes bright and his gold hair shine. He smiled at his brother, "I believe you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Regarding Thrain's secretive letter writing: I have a very incomplete headcanon that Thrór's goldsickness was becoming a problem as far as the running of the kingdom was concerned. News that the king was not himself would get out and I think the possibility that the mountain would be challenged from without would be foremost on he minds of his council. So, to add a bit of intrigue (even if for a page or two), I decided to have Thrain possibly organizing a sort of "early retirement" package for his dad. This would be a hard sell for a lot of the citizens of Erebor; Thrór was the one who recolonized Erebor and was King Under the Mountain for 181 years. And a hard sell for his eldest, Thorin, who has been a constant companion to the troubled king. So Thrain is trying to keep everything on the DL. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. Please leave comments! I'm on [tumblr!](bofursunboundbraids.tumblr.com)

**Author's Note:**

> I've been carrying ideas for this fic in my head for about a year now, which is when I fell in love with the idea of Dís and what her experiences would be like. Of course, I had to placate that pesky Bagginshield bug first (but I will go back to that...it is my _precious_!)
> 
> Let me know what you think...it is my intention that this will be a lengthy thing, so feedback is greatly appreciated.
> 
> Thank you for reading!


End file.
